The Slaves Next Door
by oneshotgauntness
Summary: Colby and Don are sold into slavery after witnessing the death of a beautiful twelve year old girl. Can the team help find them in time, or will they be forced into servitude for the rest of their lives? May be slightly AU.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I don't own numb3rs. This works for all chapters. Thanks. _

Author: Oneshotgauntness

Story: The Slaves Next Door

Summary: Colby and Don are sold into slavery after witnessing the death of a beautiful twelve year old girl. Can the team help find them in time, or will they be forced into servitude for the rest of their lives?

A/N: I got good reception from my first two one-shot stories, so I've decided to go ahead and post this. I hope you like it. (Well, like may be a 'relative' term). I am warning you that this story talks about **human trafficking and slavery**. The main characters in this story will be put through the mill. I'm warning you not because I think you'll mind the character whump, but because of some of the graphic nature of this story. There is nothing too graphically described, **but** graphic things are mentioned. Thus I rate this "T".

I was researching human trafficking for a speech that I gave last quarter and I couldn't help but feel sorry for the victims. This story was born as a result of that. Slavery does happen in modern day America - and it does happen close to home. I live in the state of Ohio and was shocked to learn that a town about an hour and a half away from me was one of the third-highest states for slave trading.

This is the Numb3rs' team story.

Any feedback is greatly appreciated.

## break ##

Colby Granger leaned over the trash can and vomited the last bit of food he'd consumed that what he'd thought was only hours before into the waste bin. He heaved once more, gagging at the very thoughts coming out of his brain. He swallowed hard as he glanced at the unconscious Don Eppes. One side of Don's face was swollen shut, and Colby swallowed hard and closed his eyes. It was his fault that they were in this mess. He was the one who had chosen to disobey their abductors. And it was him who had gotten Don punished. Colby closed his eyes as he tried not to think about how badly Don had been beaten.

"Dammit," Colby muttered, hissing as he touched his now-branded arm in frustration. It hurt, and he was tempted to pick at the yellowishly dark marking to make it go away. Colby closed his eyes and thought about the events that had happened that evening – events that were all too readily flashing back with vivid images in his mind.

He swallowed hard as he thought about the events that had landed him and Don in this situation. He closed his eyes, attempting to block the memory from the man he had only known as Guzzo hitting him with a brown leather strap. Colby coughed as he tried not to feel how painful the strap was for a second time.

Colby tried to block the all-too-vivid memory of the man who had forcefully drugged him with a needle, holding God knew what, and shoving him into the back of the car. He remembered being blindfolded and gagged before he'd passed out.

He tried to block the image of the girl – no more than twelve years old – get killed for refusing to "cooperate" with one of the men.

He tried to block the image of him not being able to help the girl. The girl, whose throat who had been slit because she'd screamed. Colby tried to block the memory of him being beaten, again, for the simple crime of moving his shoe to try and help the girl. Colby swallowed hard and coughed again. His stomach wasn't really reacting well to whatever they'd given him. He touched the fabric of the brown carpet with his shoe.

Special Agent Colby Granger, or former special agent, as he had been told by his captors, tried to block the memory of every single event that had happened since he and his boss had left the FBI office the previous afternoon. He swallowed hard and leaned over the black waste bucket again, spewing all remainders of any food he'd previously had in his system.

Regardless of Colby's attempts to block the events that had previously happened from his mind, none of the rather deadly events would leave his head.

## - ## Break ++-

"We know they were most likely abducted when they left the FBI office at 8:00 P.M.," Special Agent Megan Reeves informed Larry Flinehart, Charlie Eppes, Special Agent David Sinclair, LAPD officer Nikki Bentacourt, and Amita Rashmajan grimly as she wringed her hands. It was clear that even after she had reapplied her makeup, she had been crying. She swallowed hard, not wanting to reveal to the team just how bad things looked for Don and Colby. "We found blood all over their vehicle, and…." She swallowed again as she thought about the scene. "We found a twelve-year-old girl dead."

"Do we know anything about the twelve-year-old?" David asked, hastily taking the notes in his notebook. Megan watched as David cast a concerned glance at Charlie, who looked like he was torn between vomiting or passing out. She sighed, torn between wishing Alan was there and being glad that he wasn't there.

"Nothing. We don't even have an ID on her yet. Charlie, we're hoping you might be able to give us something to work with on the possible routes the kidnappers might have taken. Nikki, I'd like you to supervise LAPD going through Don's and Colby's files." She closed her eyes and turned towards David. "And you and I are going to the morgue to identify a body."

David nodded, and Megan silently offered a prayer for the little, innocent, clutching-a-teddy bear twelve year old girl, who should have been at home getting tucked in bed by two loving parents. It would be her and David who would later be forced to go and talk to the little girl parents.

She swallowed hard once more as she left the room. No parent should be forced to bury a child. Megan could only hope that they could catch the bastards who had done this to Don and Colby. And fast. She self-consciously checked her watch. The twenty-four hour time period was ticking ever-closer.

## Break ##

Colby awoke from his drug-induced sleep abruptly when he heard a click and the door open. The opening of the door triggered the events of the previous of the previous night to come back to him. He closed his eyes quickly, hoping to play possum. He realized one thing was evident, though: it was morning now. The yellow sunlight shined brightly through the bars on the sole, solitary window in the room. The bright light was forced through his closed eyes.

_Why would someone kill a twelve-year-old girl, but abduct two FBI agents_? The entire scenario made no sense to Colby Granger. The unease in Colby's gut grew as he heard the footsteps grow closer.

"What the fuck did you kidnap two FBI agents for?" the first man, the man who had told Colby he could not speak, spoke hastily to the man who had kidnapped them. It seemed that he was pissed at the other man. Although Colby couldn't see the other man, he guessed that the man was probably Guzzo, who had forced them into the car.

"It was either that or kill them like I did the girl. She had the disease; she was of no use to us." The man – whose voice Colby recognized as Guzzo's – spat on the ground. "Besides, I thought it might be good for us to have some strong men on the team. We are over two hundred miles from their homeland. No-one will find them here, and no-one will look for them in this industry."

"Do you think anyone will pay to have sex with thirty-year-old men?" The other man's voice rose, and Colby found it took all of his willpower not to flinch, or, at least, to vomit. He closed his eyes tighter instead.

"There are other areas of domestic servitude in which they could be of use." The man's voice had a smirk, and it was all Colby could do not to deck him and take off running. He forced himself to remain calm, however, and keep his eyes closed. He had no idea where Don was and if he was hurt or worse – even dead.

"Well, I'll be leaving you to find out what exactly your mistake was. This is your mess; you get us out of it," the man responded. He exhaled slowly. "Wake up, Agent Granger. I know you're only playing possum."

Colby swallowed hard but obediently opened his eyes. They knew he and Don were FBI agents, but decided to keep them anyway. He was grateful for being kept alive instead of killed outright, but he didn't know what on earth they wanted. After seeing the twelve-year-old's death, he knew it was nothing good.

"Good boy," the first man responded, affectionately ruffling Colby's hair. Colby pulled away, only to be harshly slapped across the face. His arms were roughly grabbed and he was tossed to the ground. He closed his eyes once more as two angry feet soon found their way to his ribs.

"Hey!" he heard Don's voice suddenly cry, and he heard a pair of socked feet hit the floor. He guessed Don was up and moving. Colby struggled to pull himself up, but he was forced back down as a gun was pointed to his head. His arm twisted with a sickening crunch, and Colby knew that, with all probability, it was broken. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe through the pain. It was then that he knew that things were about to get worse – a lot worse.

## break ##

Don winced when he heard Colby's arm snap. He leapt to his feet, ready to attack in an instant, not in a bit amused that they had taken away his shoes. He summarized that was to keep him from escaping. All these thoughts flew by as he attempted to punch one of the men in their face. His punch never landed, however, and Special Agent Don Eppes soon found himself on the floor.

"Leave Colby alone," Don said, already noticing a small streak of blood on Colby's face. _That was so not good_. They had seen a twelve-year-old get killed yesterday. Specifically, their kidnappers had taken a knife to her throat and slit it. He swallowed hard and winced, realizing that meant that they were not going to go easy on two FBI agents. Actually, he was surprised that they hadn't been killed yet, although he kept that observation to himself.

"You will not speak," the first man ordered as he dragged Don to his feet. He placed a knife against Don's neck, and Don's breath hitched. He feared that if he even breathed another breath, he would be dead. He didn't even glance at his fellow team member. "If you speak, I will slit Colby's throat. If you leave this room, I will slit the agent's throat." He turned towards Colby, who looked like he was close to passing out from the pain. "You are coming with me," he said finally after studying him for a minute. "We will patch up your arm, and you will work for us."

Don wanted to tell the man to go to hell, that he and Colby would never obey him, but his junior agent shot Don a look of fear as he was hoarded from the doorway. It was then, Don realized, that until he and Colby could escape, they were stuck with some mentally ill people.

Mentally ill people who had control over them. And God knew how many other people.

And who had killed a beautiful, twelve-year-old girl for having AIDS.

## break ##

"We think they were taken outside of Joe's pub," David said. He did not show Larry, Amita and Charlie the pictures they'd found of the crime scene. He hadn't wanted to see them himself and had been horrified when he had. He swallowed hard. "We… found substantial evidence there."

"What happened, David?" Charlie asked. He checked his watch, and David guessed he was feeling relieved that Alan was still on his flight back from Hawaii.

David knew he had to tell Charlie, but didn't relish this part. "We found the girl's body there, as well as another dead man. We think he worked for them; we identified one of Colby's bullets in his body."

Charlie winced, and David knew what he was thinking. If Colby had killed one of the men, his likelyhood of surviving the encounter with the men, well already slim, grew ever smaller.

## break ##

Don had passed out again when Colby came back from his trip to the doctor's office. More accurately he had been _dragged _back fromhis trip to the doctor's office. The man had drugged him during the operation, but had relished at how much pain Colby was in before the operation by twisting his well-bent arm even further.

Colby's stomach clenched as he attempted to bury himself under the blue blanket that was worn and thin. He was quickly learning that nothing here was meant for the comfort of anyone but the men in charge. He'd already identified at least six men as leaders who came in and out of the house on a regular basis, and summarized that there were at least three more who had access from the conversation.

He closed his eyes, remembering his words to Megan during a particularly tough case: _and yeah, no guy agrees not to have sex_. How true that was. He closed his eyes even tighter and wrapped the thin blanket around him.

Colby had gotten out one word in protest before the man had slapped him. The man then said that if any other word was uttered by Colby, Don's throat would be slit. After seeing the way they'd brutally attacked the twelve-year-old, Colby believed it.

He was forced to watch as they took out his wallet, his car keys, and his other FBI stuff. The doctor – it seemed he had more job titles, perhaps even leader – had taken out his gun and emptied it, and then put Colby's own gun in his own pocket. Another man had pocketed Don's gun.

Then, Colby was told how the system would work. He and Don each owed the men fifty thousand dollars because their life had been spared. Their documents would be "safeguarded", the man explained, until the ordeal was over. If Colby and Don attempted to communicate with anyone at all, the documents would be burned, and they really would have nowhere to turn.

Their FBI weaponry and badges were to be returned to the FBI in a little black bag with a message that Colby had been forced to write. He'd silently protested until they'd left to go "beat some sense into Don." He had hastily agreed before they made good on their threat.

The message that he had been forced to write simply was, "We're owned now."

It felt like he was signing his life away.

## break ##

Megan slipped on her shoes and gun as she answered her cell phone. She glanced silently at Charlie and Amita, who were hard at work after a full night's sleep. _Well, _she thought, not really a full night's sleep, but at least some sleep. She hung up her cell phone and glanced at David. "That was the mail service from downstairs," she responded finally. "They have a message for us."

"Let's go," David responded grimly. He, too, checked his watch, and Megan knew what he was thinking. The twenty-four-hour mark had almost been hit. The longer that mark grew, the less likely it was that Special Agent Colby Granger and Special Agent Don Eppes would be left alive.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: I got a good reception from the first chapter so decided to post this chapter early; thanks to all reviews. I am aware Nikki replaced Megan on the show; she was an LAPD officer before that, as she is in this FanFiction. **Warning: This chapter mentions/implies rape.**_

_Disclaimer: I don't own them. *Sigh*_

_break_

Don winced as his stomach clenched tighter and he closed his eyes. His breathing hastened, and he had to gulp in another breath of air. Swallowing hard, Don winced as he turned towards Colby, wishing with all his might that he hadn't. "What happened?" he asked.

The look on Colby's face was full of remorse. Colby's head hung in shame as he focused all his attention that he had left on his blue sling he was required to wear. He saw Colby's Adam's apple bob, and he knew Colby felt personally responsible for Don's attack.

"I moved when they told me not too," he responded. He was obviously anguished over his "crime". Don simply thanked their lucky stars that their captors hadn't figured out that Colby was dyslexic yet. They probably wouldn't, Don hoped; at least they probably wouldn't need Colby to read a lot. If they'd beaten him that much for moving his shoe…

"Colby…" He was so, so thankful that he and Colby were allowed to speak within the corner of their little room. Guzzo had granted them that privilege after Colby and Don had not been able to break free after three days of captivity. They were still not allowed to speak to anyone else but each other. Still, the simple act of hearing Colby's voice – a friendly voice – made Don want to rejoice.

"Colby, that was not your fault," Don responded. He lifted up Colby's chin, forcing the junior agent to look him in the eyes. "Colby, these are sick people. They punished me because they were in a bad mood, and blamed you for it. Do not listen to them."

Colby nodded, but Don knew that deep down, his younger agent still blamed himself for Don's black and swollen eye. It was nothing to the pain he was sure Colby was feeling. "Colby, they aren't requiring you to do anything yet, are they?" he asked, attempting to change the subject.

"That's what I don't get." Colby was careful to keep his voice low. He knew the consequences of being heard all too well; his arm had been broken for them. He picked at the frayed blue fabric of his sling and winced as he moved his arm."I don't understand what they want me to do. Why they're keeping me around if they don't want me to do anything."

"I think I have a thought about that," Don responded. He stretched his tired arms and sat down on the green cot. "They want me to work loading boxes, and they are trying to use you to force me not to communicate with anyone."

"Because they know if I stay here, you won't be as likely to run off because they can just kill me," Colby responded. That made sense, and played right into Don's thoughts. Colby glanced up at Don again. "All I did was move my shoe while they were in the room. Guzzo took a strap to me and told me that you were good as dead. When you didn't come in at the normal time…"

"Look, it's not your fault," Don responded. He glanced at the door as he heard footsteps outside it. He lowered his voice. "Listen, Colby, they have the police working for them. I saw a policeman accept a wad of hundred dollar bills." He swallowed hard, praying that somehow it wasn't true. "Colby, the man dressed in the police uniform looked exactly like Ian Edgerton… and they addressed him by name."

## - ## Break

It was later that evening – or, well, it was probably early that morning – when Colby was returned to the eight by ten room that he shared with Don. As soon as his guard was gone, Colby leaned over the waste basket and vomited the remainder of his food he'd been given – two mere pieces of toast – into the trash can. Colby swallowed hard and wiped the vomit off with a napkin he'd managed to snatch at the bar.

_Thirty pieces of silver_, Colby thought half-heartedly. That was what the man had paid for him. Well, really, thirty dollars. He had been betrayed for a small sum of money. A police officer – a member of the LAPD, for God's sake, had recognized his picture. He'd hurried to the scene, telling Colby's captor that he had to let Colby go. Colby belatedly remembered his aunt telling him once Jesus had been betrayed by thirty pieces of silver. If Colby had been thinking about that, he would have thought how interesting and attempted to compare the two scenarios.

All he could think about, though, was how Colby's captor had talked smoothly; assuring the LAPD officer that he had the news wrong, that Colby wasn't being held against his will. His captor had talked to the man all well keeping a vice death grip on Colby's arm. Then – as a move of trust – the captor had offered Colby to the police officer for half an hour for some "fun."

When Colby had heard the last word, he'd nearly vomited. But he'd managed to restrain himself as the man had dragged him into the behind the bar. He'd managed to close his eyes as the man had rubbed against him. He'd managed to fight back. Colby clearly remembered yelling at the LAPD officer that he didn't want this. Then, his memory had gone black, and Colby had shuddered at what had happened – or hadn't happened – next. He couldn't remember much, he just knew it wasn't good.

He wondered if this was how rape victims felt.

As a result of Colby's "disobedience", the LAPD officer called it, Colby's arm had been broken - the same one, _again_ – and now he and Don were in a much, much worse place than they had been before.

Half of LAPD was enjoying the benefits of the sex slave trade.

## - Break - ##

"I swear, LAPD is giving me the run-around," David Sinclair grumbled as he slammed his report onto Megan's desk. "The chief isn't even bothering to return my calls anymore. Somehow, I don't think we can expect help from them for backup or anything. If I didn't know better, I'd say they we're involved in this."

Megan nodded as she took David' s report. "I'm trying not to ask Charlie and Amita and Larry to work on it – at least not until we have something more concrete to go on." She handed David the picture. "We have another picture," she responded with the shake of her head. This one was of Colby, who was leaning over a black waste basket. It looked like he was throwing up. His arm was in a blue sling, and he looked like he felt miserable.

"They say a picture paints a thousand words…" David muttered as he took the picture. His heart clenched, and Megan wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was: this could be the last time they saw Colby Granger alive.

"And a report paints even more," a small, petite black girl said. Her black-brown hair looked like it needed to be combed and the girl looked oddly familiar. David and Megan both took her hand as she shook theirs. "I'm Nikki Bentacourt, LAPD. I've worked with Don Eppes and Colby Granger when they were missing." She swallowed hard. "Don't know you, but I hope I can trust you. My boss came in the break room this morning and was joking with another guy. He said…" Nikki swallowed hard and burst into tears.

"It's okay," Megan said as she approached Nikki, offering her arms in a hug even as she looked quizzically over Nikki's head at David. She remembered Colby talking about Nikki a few times. Colby was trying to encourage Nikki to apply for the FBI but hadn't had much luck yet. "Why don't we talk in here?" she asked.

David followed, and Megan knew that he'd be quiet, but wanted to listen in.

"What'd your boss say?" Megan asked Nikki as she handed the woman another tissue. It was clear that whatever the boss had said had upset Nikki so much she felt the need to confront the FBI.

"Colby – he's always been like a brother to me," Nikki responded. She took a gulp of the water David offered her. "You know? I know a lot about him. So when I heard he was missing, it home. Hard. Then I go into the break room this morning to ask my boss if I could assist ya'll on the case, since he knows I'm thinking about transferring to the FBI." Nikki swallowed hard once more and closed her eyes. "Oh, God, I don't think I could bear to say this out loud more than once."

"Once is all we need," David assured her as he sat down.

"He drank a sip of coffee, my boss, turned towards his friend, and said, 'I've got one over the FBI, now!' and his boss said, 'well, how?' and my boss looks at the other LAPD officer and smiles this sick smile." Nikki burst into a fresh wave of tears and pulled up her knees to her chest. "God, it made me sick. He said – he said 'I raped Colby Granger, their traitor agent. Been wanting to do that a long time.'"

Before she'd even finished her sentence, it was David who had left the room for a trash can to empty the remainder of _his_ lunch in.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: I have gone back through this chapter and added in some Don whump, since I know most of you love Don angst. I will try and update again on the fourth of July._

_I really hope you enjoy. This is the first time I've attempted a fic of this nature and feedback would be appreciated._

**_Warning: Chapter mentions sexual assault to main character _**

* * *

><p>"Hey, man," Don said as he awoke and pulled on his shoes. It was another day where it looked like he would be going off to work during the day and Colby would be working at night. He paused as he glanced at Colby. "What happened last night?"<p>

Colby was flashed back to when he and Charlie were working on a particularly tough case. He swallowed hard and forced himself to recall what he'd said to Charlie: _You have to talk about the attack. You can't just keep going around and telling everyone you're fine. _"I…" he said, suddenly finding that he had no words to say. He remembered what Charlie had said after that: _well obviously I'm not fine. _"I…" he swallowed hard again.

"I'm guessing it's too tough to talk about?" Don asked, and Colby nodded. He leaned and sat down on the bed.

"He… he handed me over to the police officer like a Christmas present, Don." Colby exhaled. "He handed me over to the police like a turkey on Christmas eve. And then they…" Colby wanted to block this part from his mind. "And then they trussed me up like a Thanksgiving turkey, and he had his way with me."

## break #

Colby winced as he awoke out of his drugged sleep. They had him working mostly at night, working the underground trade. They didn't really have him do a lot; Guzzo seemed to mostly like scaring him. Colby was just glad that, especially after the previous night, that was _all _Guzzo liked.

Colby leaned his head on the back of the bed. He had already tried exploring the room, and there was no way out of it. He had been beaten for touching the door at the same time his captor had. Colby gagged. He wasn't quite sure what the men were giving him, but he didn't like the effects. His body felt nauseated, and he felt much more anxious than usual. He swallowed hard and buried his face under the pillow.

He glanced up at the clock. He wasn't sure why his captors had the clock there, it wasn't right. It stayed at one time every minute of the twenty-four hour plan. Colby's stomach churned in anguish. He had barely had anything to eat, but he already felt nauseated. Don seemed to be fine with his food, and Colby had a nagging suspicion they wanted him easier to go, although he wasn't sure why.

The door slid open, and Don was roughly shoved to the floor. "Hey, man," he responded, a weary and tired look on his face. "How are you?" He picked himself up off the floor.

Colby felt himself stare at the wall a whole minute before answering back. "Yeah," he responded. He swallowed hard. His throat was painfully dry. "I don't feel so good, Don. I think they're drugging me, but I don't know with what."

Don touched Colby's forehead in a concerned manner, reminding Colby much of how he protected Charlie. "What are some of the symptoms?" he asked quietly as he sat on the cot next to Colby.

"I don't really know which ones are related to stress and which ones are related to the drug, but I've been vomiting, I've been nauseated, I've been staring out into space for random period of times, and I've been really anxious," Colby admitted sheepishly. "I hate it, Don. I just feel miserable." He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. "Do you think they're going to make me work tonight?"

"I hope not," Don muttered, although Colby thought he heard the 'I don't know' written on his voice. "Colby, I don't know why the hell they would, but it sounds like they're giving you angel dust."

"Angel dust?" Colby asked, his face in a confused expression mark.

Don nodded grimly. "They used to use it as an anesthetic, but stopped because it had some really weird symptoms," he responded. "You gotta keep telling me your symptoms, man."

Colby glanced at Don, but exhaled slowly and nodded. His stomach clenched, and he slowly made his way for the waste basket again. What he would give to stop vomiting!

"Damn it," Don hissed through clenched teeth as he picked up the box. He was exhausted, and was glad that Colby, especially in his drug-induced state, wasn't moving boxes. He handed the other worker – what was he supposed to call the dude who he was sure was being held against his will? – another box and made his track back to pick up another one. He swallowed hard as he closed his eyes and hissed.

He'd been doing this for probably four days already, and the motions had almost become automatic. He'd learned why they were keeping Colby around. Currently, it was so Don couldn't escape. They said Don earned ten cents an hour for him and ten cents an hour for his partner. They had to pay them back fifty thousand dollars before they could get out of there. Which pretty much meant that they would never be released by their captors. They were FBI agents; they had seen their captor's faces. Even if they did earn enough money, which Don seriously doubted, they wouldn't be released. At ten cents an hour, it would take Don years to get out of there.

When Don had been brave enough to mention that ten cents was way below minimum wage, Colby had been beaten and drugged again. Don felt guilty for that, and didn't tell Colby. Colby was detached enough already. He had a nagging suspicion that Colby was being given a slightly different version of PCP. If it had actually been PCP, Colby would have probably had a more severe reaction. His side effects he'd mentioned, and that Don had observed, had been closer to PCP than any other drug Don knew, though.

Don's thoughts shifted again, and the box slipped from his hands. He hastened to catch it, but it dropped to the ground. He winced as he saw the man move closer, and knew he was in for it.

The man shoved him back against the wall, and he winced as he was roughly slapped across his face. He lowered his eyes and attempted to look submissive. None of his hostage 101 training techniques had worked – not even amongst the other hostages. He gulped when he saw the angry look on the man's face.

"You disobeyed orders and dropped the box," the man responded. He sighed. "For that, your friend will be punished. But now… hold out your hands," he said. It was terrifying how, even to Don, those words sounded.

He did as he was instructed and braced himself for the man's attack, all while hoping they wouldn't attack Colby too badly.

## Break ##

Don returned back to their coven that night. Colby had started to work with Don. Both were being used as pack mules, something Don found emotionally draining. It didn't help that their every mistake was watched like a hawk, and that Colby had been beaten because Don had slipped and dropped one of the boxes. It didn't help that most of the slaves - them included - only got about three hours of sleep a night. The more sleep deprived the slaves were, and the more work that they did, the less likely they were to escape. At least, that was their kidnapper's theory.

The boxes were packed with every form of contraband imaginable. Don and Colby were working on attempting to plan an escape, but with both of them separated most of the time, sleeping opposite schedules, and sleep deprived, it looked to be impossible. He'd attempted to get help from another law enforcement officer only to find out that the man not only took bribes from their kidnappers... he worked for them. Don knew how Colby felt now when he said he'd been assaulted. Although Don's wasn't as "bad" as Colby's, it still unnerved him. The beating had been brutal... and the sexual harassment even worse.

Somehow they had to make sure this shit ring got stopped.

Right now, though, they just needed to remember who they were. The nightly brainwashing sessions (one of the many reasons why Colby and Don weren't getting much sleep) were brutal. Their captors wanted them not to remember why they'd been abducted, and they didn't want them to remember their family life before hand at all. They wanted Don and Colby to resign their entire lives to working as slaves.

_As if,_ Don thought bitterly as he felt his injured arm. He closed his eyes and offered a prayer for Colby, who was in the middle of his brainwashing session. Don's had been brutal, and he knew Colby would probably be punished for his crime.

What terrified Don the most was that he knew the brainwashers might succeed. But he and Colby couldn't forget... They had to remember.


End file.
